You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. Ann Veronica readjusted her chin on her hand. " "I wish I could, Joan," returned the carpenter, sadly. It would put the whole adventure on a broader and better footing; it seemed, indeed, almost the only possible way in which she might emerge from her rebellion with anything like success. Here I am as an alternative either to nasty work—or going home. Think—think of that engagement!” Their talk had come to eloquent silences that contradicted all he had to say.
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